Mr. Guildford bowed. “You are very kind,” he said, “but,” with a glance at Cicely, “as Miss Methvyn knows, I am not an idle man; I have very little time for paying calls.—I am only one of her numerous acquaintances, I see,” he thought bitterly. “Lady Forrester has never even heard my name, it appears.” But at that instant he caught sight of Cicely, a quick flush of shame, of disappointment, or wounded feeling, which, he could not tell had spread over her face; a contraction of pain—how well he remembered that look!—had ruffled the fair forehead; he could almost have imagined that there were tears in the blue eyes—he was softened in a moment. “I don’t think I know your address,” he said, turning again to Lady Forrester.
“It is 31, Upper L—— Place,” she replied amiably. “I have one of my husband’s cards in my pocket-book I think; I can add the address in pencil if you like.”
“No thank you; I am quite sure I shall not forget it,” and again he lifted his hat in farewell and left the sisters alone.
“Amy,” exclaimed Cicely, as soon as he was out of hearing, “Amy, why were you not more cordial in your manner to him about coming to see us? I am sure he thought you did not want him to come.”
The reproach in her tone surprised Lady Forrester. She looked at Cicely with bewilderment in her bright brown eyes. “Not cordial,” she exclaimed, “I thought I was quite as cordial as there was any need to be. In fact, I did not quite understand what you said about his coming to see us; he is some friend of Trevor’s, I suppose? You forget I don’t know all the friends you have made since I was married, and Herbert is very particular.”
“Herbert will never require to be ‘particular’ about any one I introduce to you,” said Cicely with momentary haughtiness. “But Amy,” she went on, more gently, “you cannot have such a short memory. You haven’t forgotten all I told you about Mr. Guildford; don’t you remember he was the doctor at Sothernbay, who—”
“The doctor who was with my little darling when he died,” exclaimed Amiel. “Oh! Cicely, forgive me. Oh! how stupid I am—how horribly heartless and ungrateful I must have seemed!” the tears rushed into her eyes. “Oh! I wish I could call him back, Cicely, and tell him I hadn’t the least idea who he was!”
“But I have so often told you his name, Amy dear,” said Cicely, compassionating her distress, yet still a little vexed with her. “And couldn’t you have understood by my manner that there was some reason for asking him to come to see us? I don’t ask gentlemen to your house.”
“Except Mr. Hayle,” put in Amiel.
“No, not except Mr. Hayle. Mr. Hayle called and you yourself asked him to come again, because you knew how much mamma liked him. But, oh, how silly of us to get cross about it! Forgive me, Amy, only I wish you had seen that I had a reason for what I did.”